A ModernDay Phantom
by GothicLolita009 aka Hayley M
Summary: Larisa Kelley-a lonely Irish beauty, meets her Angel of Music. Rating may change.
1. A New Starlet

A Modern-Day Phantom

by: Haley Macrae

Disclaimer: I DO NOT, nor will I EVER own any POTO characters, lyrics, etc... depicted here. I'm a poor person, okay. Please don't sue.

Chapter One: A Rising Starlet

With a heavy sigh, fifteen year-old Larisa Kelley slung her schoolbag over her shoulder and strode through the halls of St. Mary's Episcopal School. Her crisp white shirt, black vest with the school crest on that annoying front pocket, matching stockings combined with a red and black plaid skirt, she thought, was all very cute. The other girls, mostly, hated them. Just as much as they seemed to despise Larisa.

All through her life, school bored Larisa. All her life, she had been tortured, mocked and made fun of. And now, at a time when hormones ran high in both sexes, puberty was rampant, and tongues became sharp as the edges of paper, it was worse than ever. Personally, Larisa had learned to deal with the sharper words that were directed at her with silence long ago, slipping a mask of indifference on and removing it with tears.

Larisa straightened out her loose strands of wispy black hair, her dark eyes focused straight on the little chapel which was her destination. She entered with a humble little squat-kneel and took her place with the more senior girls, opening their hymn and prayer books, marking the pages with slips of paper.

After morning prayer, classes began. The same old boring day...the same old food. The same old boring life.

And yet, as some of the other girls noticed, Larisa was not quiet as sullen as she normally was. Her usually pale coloring and lifeless eyes were brightened somewhat. She ate her lunch with some sort of private gusto--reveling in some happiness only she knew about.

Finally, at about three in the afternoon, the bell of freedom tolled, and the maw of the school released many varied shapes and sizes which eventually branched off and became groups of children.

Larisa Kelley was one of the first to rush out the door, running like a madwoman. Even her best friend, Nell Jiry, had a hard time keeping up with the ecstatic girl. The race finally ended in a tie at the nearby Grovner Theatre.

The Grovner, as it was commonly called, dated back to the early 1900s, and was a tribute to the American architecture of its time. It was more or less, first and foremost, an opera house. The grande stage, private boxes, and acoustics were all perfect for staging grande opera.

Nell and Larisa quickly caught their breath and willed their heaving chests to quiet as they made their way through the house and into the back of the theatre. Down a flight of twisting stairs on the second level was the place where dancers and chorus girls placed their shoes, filling the vacant cubbies with their smaller personal items during performances and rehearsals. Taped to the inside of Larisa's cubbie was a small envelope that made her smile. She plucked it from its place, discreetly tucking it lovingly into the pocket of her school jacket, then put on her ballet shoes and costume for the new in-house production of "Hamlet."

At a very young age, about seven, Larisa's parents were killed in protests against the current government of Ireland. Her father's brother, Jack Kelley, had long since moved to America with his family, settling into a quiet suburban life. When he heard of Larisa, he quickly agreed to fly to Ireland and bring her back to America.

At age ten, she entered the Grovner Theatre as a girl who took on minor roles and made herself a place in the chorus. Every weekend, she would join the other young thespians in a lockdown on Friday night, where the group would practice their parts and enhance their skills. At one such lockdown, she made her way into one of the quiet storage rooms on the second level, just to snoop around. As she was leaving, a voice which seemed to come from the walls began to sing. It lulled the girl into such a trance that she fell asleep where she was. She awoke the next morning, barely in time to make the impression she had slept with the other girls and pack her things.

For five years, Larisa heard the voice call to her from the house, from the stage, from nearly everywhere. It was about six months before the events I speak of when Larisa Kelley received her first note.

_My Dear Larisa--(it began)_

_I have been watching you for some time, and I am impressed with your talents. When the time is right, I will call you to me, and together we will astonish those mediocre performers with the essence of true beauty and real art. In the meantime, do not be afraid. And especially not of me. Learn your lessons well, and the time will come soon. Keep this a secret between us for the moment. _

_Your Angel of Music_

The note had been scrawled in red ink--ink red as blood. At first, Larisa had been afraid. But as she held the note, read it over and over again, her naive, pure little girlish soul became enthralled with this "Angel." A few weeks after the first note, Larisa gained enough courage to write back.

_Dear Angel of Music--(she wrote)_

_I am flattered that you have been watching over me. I am tingling with excitement at the thought of experiencing true beauty and art. I have heard your voice in the walls, calling to me, and I thought I was crazy. I thought you might like to know that I have learned well, and my teachers say that I have made good progress. I hope I was not imprudent to write back to you--but you may also rest assured no one knows of you except for me. _

_Sincerely--  
__Larisa_

The next lockdown, another note appeared in her cubbie.

_My Dear Larisa--(it said)_

_You were not imprudent to reply to my note. But you must not do it again; it is a little too dangerous that someone might find our little correspondences. Very soon now, I will call you to me. You are nearly ready for me to take over your lessons. Together, we will make Grovner ring!_

_Your Angel of Music_

Larisa tingled with excitement as she went through her parts, her lessons, and movements for the chorus part she would have this evening in an opera version of "Hamlet," which starred seventeen year-old prodigy Mena Parsons, who was as stuck-up and nasty as Larisa was good and kind. Everyone--from directors to ballet girls--praised the young diva's talents. Why, she even sang for the Governor at his mansion. There was no disputing her talents--except for the fact that she sang in a style that was much too flamboyant. Nevertheless, Grovner loved her, and she stayed on.

It was the Friday night lockdown, and it was understood that none of the younger thespians would be leaving the theatre after closing time. Mena sang like the bedecked angel she was, but did not wish to, 'associate with amateurs,' as she put it, at the lockdown.

With a moment to herself at last, Larisa quickly tore open the note and read.

_My Dear Larisa--_

_The time is now. You are quite ready for me to take over your lessons. Go down to where you first heard me. _

_Your Angel of Music_

"Larisa--what are you reading?" inquired Nell with a sweet smile. Her blonde hair lay sleepily to one side, braided tightly. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her long white nightdress made Larisa think of some girl from Victorian times.

"Nothing," chirruped Larisa sweetly, and thrust the note back into her pocket.

That night, when she was sure everyone was sleeping soundly, Larisa rose from her

sleeping bag and puffed it up to make it look as if she were still asleep. Satisfied with her work, she slipped on her little blue brocade slippers and took a small flashlight from its place in her pillowcase. With a hand over the light, she crept from the large, ornate lobby and into the house. Slowly and silently as a wraith, she moved down to the second level, not noticing the shadow which followed her.

"Angel?" whispered Larisa, looking around the room.

"Who's that?"

With a yelp of fright, Larisa turned the flashlight in the direction of the call--

And sighed in relief.

"Oh, Nell...it's only you. Look, you have to go back to bed, all right?"

"No--I want to know what you're doing down here."

Larisa sighed. Of all the people she could have made friends with, Larisa had chosen a blabbermouth. Well...there was nothing for it.

"All right, Nell- but you have to swear by our friendship you won't tell anyone--I mean _any_one--what I'm about to tell you, understand?"

Her friend's tone was so strict, so grave, that Nell immediately agreed, crossing her heart with a solemn gaze. When Larisa spoke again, it was in the soft, gentle tone of remembrance.

"Well--when my mother was little--she recalled, a long time ago, being visited by an angel. And not just any angel, Nell--but an Angel of Music. Mother said to me, 'He comes down when you least expect him--you hear a voice that is soft and gentle, surely made of Heaven itself. And once you hear him, you will never forget that celestial voice. The Angel visited me, my girl, and I played my flute from then on as I had never played it before. Da has seen him too--why do you think he plays his violin so well? And you, alannah, who can sing like a nightingale even now-you'll see him, as well. When Da and I are taken to Heaven, we will send him to you.' Nell--I tell you my mother was right! I have been sent the Angel of Music, just as she promised. And I am here to meet him."

Nell's little china face looked grave and troubled. She, unlike little Larisa, had heard other tales of what lay beneath the Grovner Theatre. They called it--him--the Phantom. Most of the time, if no one bothered him, things ran smoothly and nothing bad happened. However, one night, when the directors opted to rent out that strange little box in the second tier...

It was as if the theatre had a curse upon it. This Phantom was the stuff legends are made of-and there are too many stories of who and what he was or is to recall here. Suffice it to say he was thought ugly and a creature that struck fear into the hearts of all who knew the legend.

"Larisa," she breathed, "do you really believe the Angel has come to you?"

"Yes...he has even sent letters to me."

"He's a strange Angel--to write letters to you."

"Ah, but Nell--Angels can do whatever they wish," replied Larisa with a smile, "Now hurry and go. He won't like it if he sees you."

With a final promise not to reveal anything, Nell Jiry crept back to the lobby and her sleeping bag.

A/N: 'alannah,' is Irish and means, 'my child.' It's a very sweet word. Please don't forget to review!


	2. Angel or Phantom?

Disclaimer: I DO NOT, nor will I EVER own any POTO characters, lyrics, etc... depicted here. I'm a poor person, okay. Please don't sue.

Chapter 2: Angel or Phantom?

I have managed to obtain, through the generosity of her family, the actual account of Larisa Kelley, taken from her private journal of the 16th of May.

"I waited for several more moments, afraid that the Angel would never come--or something terrible had befallen him. 'Perhaps,' I thought, 'he may have heard Nell and is afraid to appear, because I was stupid enough to tell her all.'

Then, just as I was about to drown in despair and cry, a voice came from the walls. I recognized it at once. It spoke my name in a sing-song way, gradually bringing me under its celestial power. It is difficult to describe if one has never heard it before, but let me say it was made entirely of Heaven.

I rose and went toward the voice, beaming, my face beginning to radiate with joy. He called to me again, and I followed. Before I realized what had happened to me, I was outside of the little storage room and in a passageway lit with many candelabra, and before me was a man.

He stood nearly six feet, several inches taller than myself. It was difficult to see his eyes, but I perceived they were a blue-grey. The most peculiar and singular thing about him was his mask. It was bone-white, and covered an entire half of his face. His gloved hand took me by the wrist; his black opera cape with blood-red lining covering the majority of his evening dress; all done in shades of black. By this time, I was quite outside myself, but I recalled the legend of the Phantom. Knowing one could not touch an Angel, I tried to scream, but his other gloved hand came to cover my mouth. My breath caught in my throat, and I knew no more.

When I came to, I found myself by the shores of an underground lake. Perhaps it would be better to describe it as a pool--a pool that I knew was an old-fashioned water tank, which had been built in case fire should break out. I am sure it had not been used for some time. The "man in black" sponged my forehead with a damp cloth, bent over me in a concerned manner. I remember the cold, and that it restored me back to myself. I did the first thing that came into my head; I sang.

We began a duet, this "man in black" and I. He helped me into the boat and rowed with a long pole across the "lake," which, given my situation, could not have been gloomier than the River Styx. Charon might have been silent, but the voice with which the "man in black" sang was like thunder; soft and yet with some kind of restrained power that I could not describe. As we sang together, I became inspired to higher notes than I had ever reached before. He commanded I continue to sing, and I did until the boat struck something hard.

The "man in black" leaped agilely out of the boat and to a massive pipe organ, and began to play. He turned to face me again. As I watched him, I also looked about the place in which I found myself.

What I remember the most were all of the candles. Candles everywhere! Then that massive organ, with the pipes laid in brass. Blood red curtains hung from a little alcove which I could see from the boat.

As he turned to me, he began to sing again. Oh! such a soft, sweet melody I had never heard before. It calmed my soul, carried me on Heaven's wings to the highest star! He helped me from the boat, slowly walking with me, guiding me around this strange new place beside the "lake." I finally followed him into a little alcove off the main room with the organ and down a tunnel before I finally fell into a trance-like slumber.

When I awoke, I found myself in a little bed shaped like a gigantic sea shell--that of a scallop to be more precise. Black lace curtains kept out most of the dim light around me. I tugged on the silver cord before me, and the curtains rose. Beside me was a dressing gown in a pastel pink I liked very much, and I slipped into it. Taking a breath to compose myself, I carefully made my way down the tunnel, out of the alcove and into the main room once more.

The "man in black," as I have called him, was sitting at his organ, writing what had to be music. He began to play; haunting, searing, sweet and dissonant sounds all combined. He stopped again to write. The next time he played, I began to creep quietly toward the boat, hoping I might leave the house of this madman without attracting his attention.

"Larisa," he called, turning to me, "you're awake, my dear."

I gulped, turning around to face my captor. From where I was I could not see his face clearly, but his voice told me everything that I could have wanted to know.

"Angel?"

"No, Larisa," he said gently, rising from his organ and coming over to me with surprising agility, "I am not an Angel, a fairy nor a genie, and I am not a Phantom, either. I am a man; my name is Erik."


End file.
